"Wow, that's a beagle on steroids!"
"What kind of beagle-mix is that?"
Fort Lauderdale has a hefty share of the Domicile-Challenged (as our friend Biggie Z refers to them ...) also known as WTFs for their frequent outbursts at innocent citizens and tourists.
Yesterday I was walking Booker along the river, where many of our local WTFs (another Biggie Z-ism) hang out. Actually at times, it looks like a WTF convention around here.
Anyway, more than once, the older black men in the generally eclectic WTF population have addressed us, often loudly, and often with very southern accents.
"Hey, lady, my bossman had some of them coondogs."
"That's a Walker hound, isn't it ma'am."
"I used to keep them Walkerhounds for hunting, lady."
Yesterday, one of them looked at us and asked excitedly, "That's a Tennessee Walker, ain't it missus?"
I smiled. "Actually, he's a Treeing Walker, and they were bred from a dog named Tennessee Lead originally."
"SEE," shouted the first one and he began whapping his buddy with a rolled up newspaper.
Booker and I beat a hasty retreat along our riverside path. David has suggested that I don't walk along the river any more. We are fairly water-bound. The options are not many. And as long as the WTFs appreciate a good coonhound, I guess we are okay.